


Don't Go Gentle and Soft Into the Night

by Sir_Snivelltin



Series: Bits and Pieces-Single works/stories [3]
Category: No Fandom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-28
Updated: 2016-09-28
Packaged: 2018-08-18 07:25:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8153858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sir_Snivelltin/pseuds/Sir_Snivelltin
Summary: Inspired by: Do no go gentle into that good night, written by Dylan ThomasInspired by this picture/drawing: http://rob-joseph.deviantart.com/art/Weary-Warrior-299293008





	

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by: Do no go gentle into that good night, written by Dylan Thomas  
> Inspired by this picture/drawing: http://rob-joseph.deviantart.com/art/Weary-Warrior-299293008

Warren dragged his broken body across the field its grass crushed beneath the weight of hoof and boot, the grass wet and dark from blood. He wasn't ready to die even as blood leaked from him onto the earth. He wouldn't die like the rest even though must of his right leg was drying on the head of a spear. He would pull through even as his intestines spilled through his fingers.

Crawling over armour once filled with life Warren collapsed into the dirt. A screaming woman stared at him, her face contorted with horror. It stared at him empty and meaningless, its hair filthy and bloodly as more dripped from beneath the axe in its head. Her not it, her name had been Ellie. She had been such a happy one, always joyful and filled with such a passion he had never before seen. She was gone now, only it stared at him. 

Continuing his crawl Warren wondered why he shouldn't just lie down and rest. Then he remembered "Don't go gentle and soft into the night Warren, not like me. I never saw but now I..." Those had been his father's last words as the sickness finally took him. Warren had understood those words and had followed them ever since. His hands found something sharp, raising his head Warren saw a sword planted in the ground. Reaching for the hilt he forced himself up onto his knees, fighting the pain and the black. Grasping both hands around the worn hilt Warren lowered his head against the pommel. He needed to rest. Just a short rest he had never realized how tired he was, as year of wandering now tired him.

He needed to see more. The sights he had seen. Great rivers wider farther then the eye could see, caves filled with gems that would light up brighter than the sun if even a torch was lit peaks that crested above the clouds and the ever stretching forests that lay beneath the, cities that took days to cross and more, so much more. Warren had seen many wonderful places. But not all of them. Taking a deep breath he slowly pushed himself onto his feet while a thick blanket of fog covered him and the husks strewn about the field.

He would not go into the night.


End file.
